Not Quite Himself
by jexx
Summary: Owen starts something. Jack gets angry. Written for a kinkmeme prompt on LJ. Jack/Owen. Warnings: contains slash and elements of BDSM. Later chapters will hopefully! contain violence and sex.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was written for a kinkmeme prompt on LJ. It will hopefully get longer, but not in the next week or so as I'm out of town. It's actually my first, so I'd love reviews, but kind ones please! Please also let me know if I can do things to improve formatting, make it easier to read etc.

The first time, it had begun with Jack's half teasing comments in the Hub. He'd told Owen to loosen up, let go, that it wasn't necessary to be in control all the time. He really had meant nothing more (for once), but the look in Owen's eyes had startled Jack. It was at once needing, vulnerable, yet teasing and provocative; such a change from Owen's usual unreadable mask. Needless to say, it had been enough to move Jack to take things further.

Now they had a rhythm, a routine. Owen was the model sub, silent, instantly obedient, taking everything Jack threw at him. Jack was wary, somehow, of this unquestioning compliance, it sat so ill with Owen's usual anti-authoritarian streak. So he kept himself in check, never pushing Owen even close to the edge, for fear of where he might fall.

They'd returned that evening from a particularly frustrating hunt; the Weavil in question had led them a merry dance around most of the docks area before vanishing somewhere in the maze of empty containers. Tempers had run high amid the argument over who hadn't been quick enough, smart enough, who had let it get away. Owen had seemed distracted, and had ended up taking the brunt of most of the team's anger. So Jack was surprised when he appeared in his office shortly after the rest of the team had crawled exhaustedly home.

'Owen? What you doing here?' He had half an idea, but would let Owen make the first move.

'Nothing...sir.' Owen's head was down, but Jack could see him looking up from under his lashes. This, combined with the use of the title normally reserved for the bedroom, made Jack sit up and get straight to the point.

'Are you sure, Owen?' Because you're tired, we've both had one hell of a day.' Jack's tone warned Owen to be certain of what he was asking for; Jack wouldn't be going softly, even in light of bruises and aching muscles. Owen's stance was tense, defensive, and there was a look on his face Jack couldn't quite identify, but the prospect offered was kicking his brain into action, and causing a definite stir in his pants.

'I'm certain, sir.' Owen's voice was rough.

'Ok. Strip. Quickly.' Jack leaned back in his chair to watch the show. Owen took off his shoes and socks, and kicked them aside. His watch he dropped on the corner of Jack's desk. He began to unbutton his shirt. Slow, teasing fingers toyed with the first button, easing it open. Owen flashed a look at him, mouth lifting slightly at one corner. Jack took a breath in, leaned forward, before remembering himself.

'Just take them off. I don't want the floor show.' He was curt, trying to hide the arousal Owen's teasing had caused.

Owen looked down again, returned to the buttons and unfastened them quickly. He slipped the shirt off and dropped it. The belt also came off quickly, and landed on top of the shirt. He reached for the first button of his jeans. Stopped, glanced at Jack again. He resumed the coy look, toyed once more with the top button.

Jack wasn't sure what Owen was playing at, but he hoped he realised his teasing would be paid for. Or perhaps he hoped he didn't realise; sometimes Jack got the feeling nothing he did to Owen ever really surprised him. Still, he now had to act. Moving around the desk he stopped in front of Owen, who had progressed to the second button, still moving at snail's pace. Jack leaned forward, until they were nose to nose. He could hear Owen's breathing speeding up, in anticipation of Jack's next move.

'Go face the wall,' was all Jack said, his tone even. He hoped Owen wouldn't backchat; he didn't think he had enough energy to play a power game, even one he would undoubtedly win. It was becoming clearer though, that that was Owen's aim.

'Why? I'm doing what you asked.' Jack sighed mentally before spinning Owen into the wall, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He couldn't deny he was becoming increasingly aroused by this new Owen, an Owen disconcertingly like his everyday self. But if Owen wanted to play this game, Jack had played it with the best.

'Do I need to gag you? How dare you talk back to me?' Jack was pressed close behind Owen, twisting one arm painfully behind his back. Owen's cheek was pressed against the wall, so Jack spoke directly into his ear, breath harsh on his cheek.

'Answer me! Gag?' Jack demanded.  
'No sir!' Owen answered quickly, his voice slightly muffled by his position against the wall. Jack relaxed very slightly, giving himself time to think, trying to work out if there was a way they could return to the normal pattern. He wasn't certain he wanted to do this, not with Owen so like his normal self, and so clearly determined to push Jack's limits.

Owen made the decision for him, pushing back against Jack, wriggling, testing to see if he could break free. Jack grabbed Owen's free wrist and slammed it into the wall beside his head. There was almost certainly no going back now. But suddenly Jack was angry. Angry with the way Owen constantly pushed him, goaded him, tested his authority looking for the weak spots. Angry with Owen for seeming to want to turn his team against him. It had been good to find a way to connect with Owen, a way for Owen to submit willingly. Jack knew that he should stop the game, that it was dangerous to play in this kind of mood. But he also knew he didn't want to. And he could sense that Owen didn't want that either. For better or for worse, they were playing for real.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, cautiously, Jack released Owen. Owen remained motionless, face against the wall. Almost gently, Jack took him by the shoulders and turned him so that they were facing. Lacing his fingers with Owen's he pressed his hands against the wall, above their heads. Jack watched Owen's head tilt back as he pressed his thigh gently but firmly between Owen's two.

Owen's eyes were closed. 'Look at me,' snapped Jack. Owen's eyes flicked open, and locked onto Jack's.

'Downstairs.' The word was given as a command, but Jack hoped he'd put enough question into the tone to give Owen a final chance to back out. Yes, he was angry, and yes, he would quite like to hurt him, but he wasn't about to force him into anything he didn't want to do.

Jack released Owen's hands, stepped back, and waited to see what would happen. Without a word, and with barely a backward glance, Owen turned, and climbed down the ladder to Jack's sleeping quarters. Jack followed, pausing only to grab something from a desk drawer.

When he reached the bottom of the ladder Jack found Owen standing in the centre of the room facing away from him. His head was down, but his stance was still tense. If they'd been in a bar, Jack would have marked Owen out as just desperate for a fight.

'Finish undressing, kneel on the floor and put your hands behind your head.' Jack turned away to do some undressing of his own, but looked back as he felt, rather than saw, Owen turn around. He was now stood facing him, hands in pockets, eyebrow raised, wearing an expression that said more clearly than words; 'make me.'

To hell with it. Jack backhanded him across the mouth, bruising his own knuckles, but drawing blood from Owen's lip. The blow knocked Owen sideways a little, and Jack could see the shock on his face before he managed to resume the mocking expression, only slightly impaired by the blood trickling from his mouth.

'Do it,' Jack growled. Owen continued to stand motionless, only raising the other eyebrow to indicate his continued refusal. Jack was starting to get the idea. For some reason, Owen wanted really wanted him to hurt him. Well, if that was what he wanted…

This time the blow knocked Owen off his feet, sending him sprawling across Jack's narrow bed. Jack bounded after him, pinning Owen face down with one arm before he could gather his wits. Jack briefly considered using the cuffs he'd hastily grabbed upstairs, but decided against it. He would have loved nothing better than to pull Owen upright and hit him again, but if he wasn't going to fight back it didn't seem fair.

Using his free hand Jack unfastned and dragged down Owen's jeans, smiling slightly grimly as he revealed Owen's pantless, pale arse. His cock was by now uncomfortably hard, but that would have to wait. He unfastned his own belt, pulled it off and weighed it in his hand, holding it by the buckle. Thinking about it, he realised he'd never hit Owen with anything more than his open hand before. Tonight seemed to be a night for firsts though. Releasing his hold on Owen, Jack swiftly reversed the belt and brought the buckle down hard on Owen's arse, no warning.

Owen screamed, high and thin, but he didn't move. Jack continued, varying the pace, and the positioning, covering Owen's backside with deep red marks, occasionally coming close to drawing blood. After the first stroke, Owen didn't make another sound, beyond the occasional grunt, muffled in the bedclothes. Jack was amazed at his self control, he was sure the pain was going well beyond anything that could be a turn on, but Owen hadn't moved a muscle.

Jack was starting to think about stopping, not wanting to cause too much damage, when he became aware that Owen's muffled noises had the shape of words. He listened.

'Jack, please….fuck me…' he was gasping.

What the hell was going on in Owen's head? Normally, Jack thought, when in the bedroom he was silent, never talked back, never disobeyed a direct instruction, but certainly never begged for sex. He suspected, sometimes, that Owen still thought himself above this, and that not actually asking for sex was somehow a partial justification to himself. Tonight though...his arm had stilled through sheer astonishment. How could Owen, during the beating of a lifetime, be begging for a fuck?

Jack decided not to worry about it. Owen was a grown up, after all, and the idea of fucking that arse, bright red, covered in marks and almost visibly throbbing, was irresistibly tempting. Moving slowly, to give Owen some recovery time, Jack removed the socks, shoes, pants and shirt he was still wearing. Unbelievably, Owen raised himself from the bed a little, holding himself up on shaky arms.

'Come on, Jack,' he hissed, looking back over one shoulder.


End file.
